Willful Disadvantage
by learningtowriteagain
Summary: Hannibal meets his match during a break-in. Apologies for the writing style, I struggled putting pen to paper for this one. Nevertheless, I hope you like the story idea! As with all of my stories, this is not beta-read, so apologies for any mistakes - B
1. Chapter 1

By the time he heard the crash downstairs, Hannibal was awake and jumping out of bed. Hair tousled and in his boxers, he strode purposefully towards the door, flung it open and made his way down the stairs, straining to hear any further noises. Upon entering the kitchen, he paused to grab a knife from the kitchenette, but paused upon seeing the girl stood 20 feet away from him. With her back to him, she appeared to be gazing around the room in a relaxed fashion, ignoring the pile of books deposited on the floor when she'd toppled the bookcase. Hannibal smiled at his previous panic, straightened up, and, tucking the knife into the back of the waistband of his boxers, cleared his throat before asking 'Can I help you?'.

Immediately, the girl turned on her heel, alarmed, but relaxed when she saw him and replied brightly 'Yes. Where is your safe, please?'

'My safe?' he repeated to her, eyebrows raised.

'Yes. Your safe.' She stated matter of fact-ly, apparently still at ease with no weapon in her hands.

He didn't reply, but instead cocked his head as he looked at the stranger. Dressed in all black, she certainly looked the part, but he doubted she knew what she was getting herself into. Absently he wondered what she would taste like.

'Look-' she interrupted his thoughts, clearly impatient and growing frustrated, 'I'm going to find it one way or another, this is a lot easier for the both of us if we just get on with it.'

He smiled, deciding to comply (as it made no difference), replied politely 'I do not own a safe, though some money is kept in this cabinet.' He gestured behind him, and waited for her to approach, which she did, eyes focused on the drawer. The scent her skin gave off was intoxicating, and as she turned her back to him, Hannibal grabbed his knife, and angling it towards her neck, drove his weapon into her skin.

Or it would have done.

As it happened, Hannibal instead found his arm stopped by the hand of the girl, who had turned, and after hitting the crook of his arm to direct the weapon away from her, promptly hit him in the solar plexus. Hannibal staggered backwards, leaning against the island counter for support, surprised but unharmed.

'Don't do that.' His assailant's eyes flashed angrily momentarily before she composed herself. Watching him leaning at the counter, she hesitated.

'Are you okay?'

'I'm fine.' Hannibal growled, ' And I apologise', he added, dropping his knife against the counter to prove the point. She smiled appreciatively, and then turned back towards the cabinet.

'Second drawer,' the Doctor murmured as the girl busied herself moving the notes to the top of the cabinet.

'It's not much, but it'll do.' She said brightly, patting them affectionately, and turning back to Hannibal. 'Riiiight, next…' she paused to pull out a list from her pocket, and after squinting at the words on the crumpled page, said 'Meat.' She looked up at him. 'Where do you keep that?'

'The fridge.' came the reply, bemused. The girl laughed and cocked her head at him.

'Not that meat. The human kind. I have it down here that you have some. My client wants it.'

After a long pause, Hannibal asked 'Client?'

'Yes.' She finished there, but seeing the Doctor was waiting for her to disclose more, she sighed and said 'My job is to take things by force. And,' she tapped at the paper to emphasize her point, 'someone wants what you have.'

'And who might that be?'

Of course she didn't reply.

'I don't have what you're asking for.'

'Really? Because the blueprints to your house show that you have a basement, and the door to it is the only door locked in your whole house.' She nodded in the direction.

Hannibal was speechless. He really was impressed by this girl. She'd be a challenge to track down once this was all over.

'You're very young to be so professional', he noted absently.

'I look younger than I am.' She replied abruptly. 'Where's the key?'

'I do not know.'

She sighed again, and ran a hand through her hair.

'Listen, Mr…' she reached for her piece of paper '… Lecter. What you do in your spare time is of no interest or relevance to me. I just want to get this shit and go.'

'Hannibal.'

'What?'

'Please call me Hannibal.'

'Where is the key please, _Hannibal_?'

'Madam, do not get mixed up in things you do not understand.'

She snorted, and strode over to him.

'I can handle myself thank you. Answer my question.'

'I cannot.', but even in saying so, his eyes momentarily flickered towards where the bookcase had been. He realised his mistake as he saw the corners of her mouth turn up and smiling, she murmured 'Over there?'.

At this point, he lashed out in panic, aiming for her neck but touching thin air as she ducked, and, grabbing the statuette on top of the island, delivered a blow to his head. He heard it shatter as he hit the floor.

Upon regaining consciousness, he winced and opened his eyes. The remains of the statue lay shattered on the floor. His tasted blood in his mouth, and sat up, taking in the situation. The room was silent, the windows open and curtains trailing in the breeze. The door to the basement was wide open. Hannibal stared into the darkness of its entrance. He didn't have to look to know everything in there would be gone, along with the cash from the cabinet. Running his hands through his hair, he sighed. Yes, she was a problem indeed.

A month exactly later, Catherine Miller had just returned from her evening jog. She smiled as she heard her dog scratch at the door as she unlocked it and let herself in.

'Hey, baby,' she grinned at the corgi as she bent down to stroke him, 'You missed me, huh?'. He excitedly skittered off in preparation for his tea, as she distractedly went through the mail she'd picked up on her way in. The card at the bottom of the pile caught her eye, and shifting it to the front, she stopped in her tracks.

'_Doctor Lecter requests the company of Miss Catherine Miller to a dinner party held at his residence in May._'

Below followed a quote in Latin and the details, but most importantly, an elaborate scrawl from the sender: '_Hope to see you there -H_.'

Cat mused on this for a while, ignoring the incessant barking of her hungry dog. 'Well,' she sighed to no one in particular, 'at least I have the money to buy a dress.'


	2. Chapter 2

'Mr Waters sends his gratitude for the piano delivered to him. "Perfectly on time and as fabulous as he remembered it", I believe were his exact words.'

Catherine smiled into her phone.

'Tell him he's most welcome.'

'Though I do wonder how you managed it, Cat. The place was 5 stories high and you had 20 minutes to get it out before the owner came home. And yet, Walters insists there's not a scratch on the whole damn thing.' The British drawl continued. 'Nor were there any witnesses, or any security footage.'

Rolling her eyes, Cat shrugged and continued flicking through tv channels with the remote in her free hand.

'It's my job, Charlie.' And it's nothing a little friendly bribe can't do.

She heard him sigh down the line. 'As secretive as always, Miss Miller.' Her assistant conceded.

'So, I take it there were no complaints for the week?' She changed the topic.

'Not a single one. In fact, you've been swimming in requests.'

_Soaps. Ugh._ Catherine turned the tv off and pulled her legs to her chest before crossing them and sitting upright on her recliner.

'Is that so?'

'Yes, I've had to narrow it down to the most plausible ones. Someone asked you to take down a bank, can you believe it?' the chuckle down the line was met by an agreeable giggle from Cat.

'I think that's a bit of a stretch even for me'

'Indeed…'

The sound of rustling papers paused the conversation momentarily before Charlie began again. 'Right, here they are. You have a piece of artwork needed by a Mr Bergman from a former associate; a series of designer clothes from a wide selection of equally famous and useless socialites-'

'Who wants that? Have we worked with her before?' Cat frowned.

'As astute as ever, Miss Miller. The client is a Miss Loehlin, she's asked you to recover similar things before.'

'I thought I recognised the type.'

'Yes, it's her, but more interestingly, for your final work of the week, you have a repeat victim.'

'Hm?'

'Same hit, different clients. This-' a pause, more paper rustling, 'Mr _Lecter_ seems to have a lot of desirable items. At least these requests aren't as questionable as last time.'

There was a pause as Charlie waited for a response while Catherine was frozen with her phone glued to her ear.

'… Cat?'

Snapping out of it and gathering her thoughts together, she cleared her throat and replied smoothly.

'Remove him from the list.'

'Remove? But you've got the house blueprints already; you've done it all before! And it's only for this tiny insignificant pai-'

'Remove him from the database.' Catherine interrupted, 'There will be no repeat hits to Doctor Lecter's house?'

'_Doctor_ Lecter?' came the astonished reply. 'Cat, how did you kn-'

'I will remind you to not disrespect my authority, Charles' Catherine hissed. 'Do. Not. Question. It.'

After an astounded silence, her partner cleared his throat.

'My apologies for the breach of professionalism, Miss Miller. Of course, all present and future requests to Doctor- er-_Mr_ Lecter's house will be rebuffed.'

Catherine hung up without a reply, tossed her phone on her bed and, rubbing her temples, sighed.

To her right, a new dress was hung up against the wardrobe, price tag still attached. Cat glanced at it, before groaning and turning away, irritated.

She was going to regret this decision, she knew.


	3. Chapter 3

By 10pm, the party was in full swing.

Hannibal weaved in among the throng of guests, making polite chat and accepting compliments surrounding his entertainment endeavour. Though he appeared to be enjoying himself, he was frustrated that his hope of happiness was ruined by the absence of a certain guest. His eyes scanned the crowd listlessly for what felt like the thousandth time. He was displeased, it was true. Perhaps he would have to be more persuasive next time.

He was brought back to reality by applause from the guests directed at his hired orchestra, as the pianist concluded Chopin's Nocturne in E Flat Major. When the violins started up again, Hannibal smiled to himself- Laudate Dominum was one of his favourite pieces by Mozart. Really quite ironic for a man who collected collapsed places of worship. Still, he was pleased with his choices of music for the evening- though the lack of soprano was undesirable. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he reminded himself not to make that mistake again in the future, then-

'Wine?' A polite voice of one of the waiters addressing a guest interrupted his thoughts.

'Oh, no, thank you.' came a familiar voice from behind him.

Unable to stop himself, Hannibal smiled widely, then composing himself, turned to face the source of the voice and asked smoothly 'Do you not drink?'

Catherine smiled evenly back at him, a vision of civility.

'Not tonight, Doctor Lecter, no.'

'Please, call me Hannibal.'

She didn't reply, and instead, inhaled and glanced around the room with mock interest.

'Looks like your little party is a great success' she smirked, raising an eyebrow.

'So I have been told' replied he, 'though you could have judged it more accurately had you been present at dinner.'

Catherine smiled, and looked pointedly at the trays of canapés circling the room. Hannibal did not follow her gaze, but instead took the moment to take her in. In her floor length dress with her hair undone and resting simply on her shoulders, she had beaten the whole room, including the women who had clearly taken hours to get ready.

'Oh, I think you would have found it difficult to cater for a vegetarian amongst all of that meat.' She broke his train of thought, turning back to him and smiling politely.

'How very true. I had no idea you were vegetarian.'

'Neither did I until I met you.'

They stared at each other quietly for a few seconds, amused. Hannibal moved closer to her, and she looked up at him, questioningly.

'Why did you come?' he murmured.

She grimaced slightly at the change in tone of the conversation, as though he was addressing something she didn't want to discuss.

'If you can find me based on nothing but my appearance, Hannibal, you can find me anywhere. I didn't really have a choice.'

Hannibal frowned. Admittedly, he hadn't thought of this.

His partner took a large breath, and continued.

'_So_, in light of this, I have a peace offering.'

Hannibal's eyebrows shot up in amusement.

'A _peace offering_?' he repeated questioningly, 'Miss Miller, you have my _full_ attention.'

She gave him a withering look, to which the doctor simply smiled wider. Speaking to her reminded him of petulant teenager, minus the pout. If it wasn't for his awareness of her self-defence, he probably would have voiced this thought. Anyhow, she was entertaining enough as is.

He watched her inhale deeply in an attempt to dismiss her irritation, and when she eventually looked up at him, her face maintained a polite but professional expression.

'I can tell you who hired me.'

Hannibal paused, and watched her searching his face for a while, before replying curtly 'That is of no interest to me currently.'

Her face betrayed surprise and disappointment only momentarily. Then, she was angry.

'Then _why_ did you invite me?' she asked, 'surely you knew I would offer to tell you this?'

'I did.' He replied evenly. She exhaled in exasperation.

'Then why did you invite me if you intended to turn me down? Just to stand here so you can experience fucking me over in first person?' she hissed, struggling to keep her voice to a regular volume.

In honesty, this had not crossed his mind. In fact, her distress made him vaguely irritated.

'I'll go to the police,' she continued, the words tumbling from her mouth increasingly rapidly, 'Do you think I care abou-'

'Catherine,' he interrupted with the warning glance to remind her to keep her voice down. She fell silent, composing herself and warily looking around at the oblivious guests.

After a pause that Hannibal deemed long enough to calm her down, he stepped back, and placing his hands behind his back, stated 'I wish to engage in your services.'

Catherine snorted. 'No.'

'Why not?' he replied immediately, irritated.

'Like I mentioned the last time I met you, I don't care what you do in your spare time, but I _do_ care when you're trying to get me wrapped up in it.'

Hannibal began to speak, but clearly irritated herself, Cat's hand flew up, demanding his continued silence.

'This is not up for discussion, Doctor Lecter. Now, if you'll forgive me, I should probably go and mingle.' Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel and began to walk away. Hannibal ignored his reluctant appreciation for the backless nature of her dress, and turned away also, clenching his jaw. Being spoken to like that was not to be tolerated, he thought angrily, weaving through the crowd.

After being engaged in conversation with a few moronic social climbers, displaying far too much flesh (and evidently not enough common sense to cover up in front of a cannibal), he excused himself from the party, and half an hour later found himself sitting at his desk having spent the last 10 minutes flicking through a recipe book in an attempt to calm himself down. His mind had inevitably been flickering back to Miss Miller since she had dismissed him. Taking this interaction into consideration, he was uncertain of how to proceed. Letting her go was out of the question- she posed too much of a potential danger to Hannibal for him to even consider that- but this did not mean that he had to deal with her immediately. And it was true, she could be useful. Temporarily having a partner could keep him incognito for longer, and she seemed as capable as any. He stroked the page depicting bouillabaisse thoughtfully. Finding a replacement would be difficult, particularly when she has walked straight into his life and was virtually untraceable. He turned the page and felt a wave of irritation hit him when he saw it displayed a filet mignon with balsamic glaze- the meal he was planning on making with the ingredients Miss Miller had stolen. Slamming the book shut, he pushed it to a side and instead eyed his calligraphy set. He removed the lid of his fountain pen, and after brief consideration, drove the nib into the mahogany of his desk. No, he decided. This time, a more direct approach was needed.


	4. Chapter 4

_Running always seems like a good idea until it rains_, Catherine mused as she jogged down the street. Reckless as usual, she had forgotten to check the weather forecast, and midway through her 7k run had unexpectedly been hit by what felt like a monsoon. She resisted the urge to shudder as water dripped down her back from her ponytail, and pushed herself to speed up. Not long until she was home now. She checked the heart monitor on her watch. 140 bpm. She exhaled in agitation, in her frustration almost breaking her pace. She was getting complacent. Catherine had always been extremely sporty and prided herself on her performance, but recently she'd started slacking a little. Unintentionally, of course. Perhaps she should get a personal trainer. No, she was too stubborn to take orders from anyone anyway. It's not like she didn't know how to _run_, anyway. She just needed to start training harder again. Recognising her house, she slowed to a walk and regained her breath. _Nope_, she though grimly. She was definitely not in her best physical shape right now. Pausing to stretch at her gate, she smiled as she heard the yapping from her door. Somehow, Alfie always knew when she was nearby. A sixth sense, maybe?

Well, time to attend to his royal highness, she decided, and pushing open the gate, she removed her key from its questionable place in her sports bra, and unlocked the door.

'Yesyesyes, Alf, I missed you too!' she sang fondly to the dog running around her heels excitedly. She paused when she noticed the shredded paper on the floor. _Ugh_. She groaned.

'Got your hands on the printer paper _again_?! You are one determined dog.' Alfie panted excitedly in reply.

'And,' she added fondly, her anger already dissipated, 'seemingly very thirsty. Let me fill up your bowl.'

'I already have.' Came a voice from the kitchen. Cat gave a startled yelp in response, and Hannibal chuckled as he stepped into the hallway.

'I didn't mean to frighten you, I assure you.' He leaned against the doorframe, apparently at ease in a white shirt and jeans. From the corner of her eye, Cat noticed that he had hung his jacket up on the coat rack next to her. Irritated at her display of vulnerability, she gazed at him, focusing on keeping her face as casual as possible.

'How long have you been here?'

'Not long.' He replied curtly, eyeing her sodden clothing, 'How was your run?'

'Wet.' She snapped, folding her arms and pretending not to notice the clothing at her elbows dripping. _How embarrassing. _'Is there something I can help you with, Doctor Lecter?'

'_Hannibal._ ' He corrected, scoping the room with mild interest before focusing back on the girl before him. 'And yes. Regarding the proposition I made to you at my dinner party.'

'Ah.' Catherine tried to ignore her disappointment. She'd spent the last week convincing herself that the dinner party might possibly be the last she would hear of it. 'Well, my opinion on the matter still stands.'

'Yes.' He smiled. 'I thought it might.' He pushed himself off the frame and stepped towards her. 'I was hopi-'

'I'm sure you have some very valid points, but could this _possibly_ wait until I'm a little more… You know, dry?' She gestured to her sopping clothing.

Hannibal exhaled in frustration and pinched the bridge of his nose.

'I am a very busy man, Miss…' he paused to collect himself, '- yes, yes, of course, excuse my rudeness.'

Catherine didn't reply, but instead padded upstairs with what she hoped was an air of dignity. When she reached the landing, she turned back to call for Alfie, but instead managed to catch a glimpse of him bolting in the direction of Hannibal, tail wagging.

'Traitor.' She muttered, and stalked into her room in search of clean clothes, slamming the door behind her.

* * *

_**[Author's note: My apologies for taking so long and producing such a short chapter- it's currently exam period so it's kind of difficult to find the time, but I'll be finished in a week or so and I'll be updating more regularly. If you're liking my work or have any suggestions, please let me know by messaging me or leaving a review- I read every one and promise to take any suggestions into consideration when continuing my work. Thanks for your patience!- C]**_


	5. Chapter 5

Considering she was a thief for a living, breaking into her house wasn't that difficult. Locked gate, locked door, but overall very little security system- she didn't even have an alarm for Christ's sake! Presumably, she had never experienced-or expected- any backlash from her career of choice.

'How naive.' Hannibal muttered as he idly picked the lock of the door located at the rear of the house (breaking into the front held more risks due to being in the open. Her garden, curiously was all but shaded from the outside world by a mass of hedges around the perimeter- another thing that made him wonder how she did not invite burglary on a daily basis). In his experience, one's career always ran into their personal life regardless of how hard they tried to keep them separate.

He felt the pick give slightly as he aligned the first two pins, and, glancing at the darkening sky, reminded himself to hurry up. The inevitability of rain could potentially mean that it would cut Catherine's run short, and he didn't want to find himself in any situation today in which he was not in complete control. Though if he had to guess, she'd probably be running a while regardless of the weather. His mind flashed back to not long ago, when, concealed in his car, he had seen her walk out of her house, absent-mindedly adjusting her ponytail and humming an unnamed song playing in her ears, before jogging down the road and disappearing around the corner. He knew she was in good physical shape, and estimated that she'd be able to run at least 10 kilometres before beginning to tire. 5k there, 5k back, at the very least he should have half an hour before she returned. Plenty of time.

Still, he was surprised she was running at all. It was definitely not something he would have predicted. Boxing, yes. Martial arts, possibly. After all, she had to have learned how to fight at some point. But running? In Hannibal's experience, running was a largely pointless activity. Too much work for minimal results, not even taking into account the problems created from stress on joints. Though she may have not be affected by the latter- she was younger than him, after all. He frowned distractedly as he cleared the third pin in the lock and moved onto the fourth. No, he preferred swimming.

As he continued his work with his pick and tension wrench, his mind moved to his primary reason for the whole excursion. Catherine's adamant and stubborn nature had continued to frustrate him. After the dinner party, he had expected her to think more logically in the interests of her own safety (from him), and change her mind, warranting a call or a visit. Some kind of contact, at least. And he had _tried _to be patient. But he had heard nothing for the last week. Yesterday he had reconciled himself to the fact that she was never going to come to him, and instead, he would have to come to her, if only to give her some _gentle_ guidance. Or something like that.

As the penultimate pin clicked into place, Hannibal was alerted to the distant sound of thundering coming from within the house. Startled, he paused momentarily as the noise quickly increased in volume. It wasn't until the 'thundering' developed into a skittering, and was suddenly accompanied by a high pitched yapping that he relaxed, and, smiling to himself, continued work. _Perhaps this is her last line of defence against a break-in_, he grinned openly, twisting the pick. The skittering stopped as the unseen dog presumably reached the door, but continued to yap. A faint grinding noise and the unhelpful vibration suddenly influencing Hannibal's picking confirmed that the dog had begun scraping at the door. Hannibal frowned. This could attract attention, if he didn't hurry up. However, just as he thought so, the last pin clicked into place, and as the door began to swing open unassisted, Hannibal jumped to his feet, unsure of what to expect from the house's current occupant.

As it turned out, the entrance made way to a small but very exciteable dog, who proceeded to bolt forward and run around the doctor's ankles. After an exceedingly brief observation (which was difficult as it would not sit still), Hannibal raised an eyebrow.

'A corgi?' he chuckled. 'What an anticlimax.'

The dog jumped up to the doctor in reply, and the doctor crouched to stroke him.

'It would seem that your mistress is full of surprises.' he murmured, before eyeing the tag on his collar. 'Alfie, hm?' As he stood up, the dog jumped and bounded off frantically, yapping to no one in particular, and disappeared up the stairs. Hannibal watched him run, but turned toward the only window occupying the room when he heard the sound of thunder, accompanied almost immediately by the faint patter of the first raindrops hitting the glass panes. He had made it inside just in time, then.

He took this opportunity to glance around the room. He was stood in the kitchen, which aside from everything else, was absolutely clinical. White walls, no decorations, cleared surfaces. The room itself smelt strongly of cleaning products. The only thing out of place seemed to be a dog bowl in the corner, with more dog food surrounding than within them. Collateral damage from having a dog, Hannibal mused. Stepping into the adjacent hallway, he saw a similar theme. Not as minimalist, but definitely just as clean. After hanging his jacket up on the coat stand near the staircase, he directed his attention to the end table next to the front door; which held a house phone, a (dying) orchid and a photo frame, which Hannibal picked up to examine. It depicted a marginally younger Catherine, tanned and relaxed, laughing whilst behind sprayed with water by an elephant behind her. Before Hannibal could would out whether the picture was taken in Africa or India, his thoughts were interrupted by a pattering noise, signifying Alfie's return from upstairs. Hannibal turned just as the corgi jumped from the bottom step, turned and skidded past him to the end of the hallway, carrying some chewed paper in its mouth. The dog looked at Hannibal meaningfully, dropped the paper to bark twice, before beginning to rip the sheet to pieces, wagging his tail enthusiastically all the while. The doctor frowned and went to turn back to the photograph, but paused when he noticed the empty water bowl that Alfie was sat next to. Though the dog didn't seem thirsty, Hannibal had an inexplicable fondness for the dog he had just met, and so put down the photograph momentarily, to refill the bowl from the sink in the kitchen. Besides, he reflected, seeing a dead dog in her house would not help his chances of winning her over. However, when he put the bowl down, it became apparent that the corgi had been thirsty after all, as he dropped the paper almost immediately in favour of getting a drink (and spilling half of it on the floor in over-enthusiasm, which Hannibal had to clean up). Just as he straightened up in the kitchen, he heard Alfie barking incessantly at the front door. He froze, just as he heard the key turn in the lock, and watched the door open.

'Yesyesyes, Alf, I missed you too!' came the voice from the doorway as Catherine attempted to push her way in past the corgi jumping at her heels.

Hannibal fought the urge to laugh. Well, he had been right- the rain most certainly hadn't stopped her. Whilst distracted by observing the house, he hadn't noticed that the rain had become increasingly heavy, and now, was close to torrential. Catherine herself was, simply put, absolutely soaked. Her hair stuck to her head. Her clothes were dripping onto the floor. The girl as a whole looked as though she had just survived a tsunami, and the smile on her face suggested she felt the same.

Her eyes drifted along the hallway, but stopped just short of the kitchen where Hannibal stood, landing instead on the chewed paper, which she observed with mild irritation, letting out an exasperated noise.

'Got your hands on the printer paper _again_?!' She paused, Hannibal noticed amusedly, as though waiting for the dog to reply. After a moment, she signed, and crouched to stroke her pet's head.

'You are one determined dog.' she murmured. 'And,' she added brightly after a pause, 'seemingly very thirsty.' She stood up. 'Let me fill up your bowl.'

'I already have.' the words were out before Hannibal even realised he was saying them. Catherine all but screamed as she looked in his direction, her hand jumping to her heart as she collided with the closed door whilst stepping backwards instinctually. Hannibal felt a wave of discomfort sweep through him. Her unease at being vulnerable was evident, and it made him uncomfortable also. This rudeness was not to be tolerated. In an effort to relax her, he stepped forward, hands visible to show he was unarmed, and smiled in what he hoped was a warm fashion.

'I didn't mean to frighten you, I assure you.' He gave her a moment to calm herself down, and watched her emotions change from fear, to anger, to uncertainty, before it settled on his least favourite: forced neutrality. He could never know what she was thinking when she was like this.

'How long have you been here?' she spoke gently, a sign Hannibal was not sure whether to take positively or not.

'Not long.'

None of them spoke for several moments.

'How was your run?' Hannibal attempted finally.

'Wet.' She all but spat the words at him, folding her arms. _To business it is, then. _'Is there something I can help you with, Doctor Lecter?

The Doctor frowned at the address. Surely she must be doing this deliberately now.

'_Hannibal.' _he replied patiently, breaking eye contact to exhale in irritation. What was so difficult about that? He looked back at her, this time focusing on her face to see her coming reaction. 'And yes. Regarding the proposition I made to you at my dinner party.'

He watched intently. Her face gave nothing away but polite indifference.

'Ah. Well, my opinion on the matter still stands.'

'Yes. I thought it might.' He replied curtly, smiling as though indifferent also._ Yes, or you would have contacted me, I __**know**__. _

Taking a deep breath, he stepped towards her. _Here we go._

'I was hopi-'

'I'm sure you have some very valid points,' she interrupted. Hannibal closed his eyes momentarily to avoid displaying irritation. _Do not __**ever **__interrupt me. _

'But,' Catherine continued, oblivious, 'could this _possibly_ wait until I'm a little more... You know, dry?' she pointed at her clothes, and the rapidly forming puddle on the floor where she stood.

_She interrupts me to tell me to make a raincheck._

_How dare she. _The girl was lucky she was even being offered a second chance above everything else. 'I am a very busy man, Miss Miller, and the fact that you are behaving in such a manner simply displays your _stupid _naievity with regards to the threat I pose to you.'

_Does she think it would be a challenge in any way for me to kill her? Just because I got caught off guard one time does not in any way suggest that- _Alfie barked, making him lose his train of thought. Hannibal paused mid-sentence, and in doing so, managed to re-evaluate his decisions.

'I am a very busy man, Miss...' he pinched his nose to prevent the oncoming headache. He needed her. _Think of how helpful she would be. _The suggestion of a raincheck was not a personal affront to him. _She's just embarrassed to be this vulnerable. _She'll be more open to persuasion if you accept the offer. _**Think of how helpful she would be.**_

'-Yes,' he cleared his throat to clarify again, 'yes, of course, excuse my rudeness.'

Before he could clarify when they would speak again, he was rewarded with a small smile from his opponent as she turned silently and padded quietly up the stairs. _Oh. She means as soon as she's changed. Not a raincheck then._ He smiled sheepishly, and rocked back onto his heels, gazing around the house. He had no idea how long she'd be. Alfie bounded towards him, tongue hanging out of his mouth agreeably. Hannibal smiled faintly. It didn't matter, he could wait.

* * *

_**[Author's note: thank you all for being so patient! Exams are over so I promise to update more regularly. However, with regards to continuing the story, I'm a little stuck. If you have any suggestions, post a review (which are always helpful), or send me a personal message. The faster I sort it out, the faster I can continue, and I really want to keep it going for you guys. Again, thanks for all of the messages and support, they're so great to read and it really keeps me going! :-) - C]**_


	6. Chapter 6

She stood, frozen, in the middle of her bedroom; mind running a thousand miles a second; water gently dripping onto the floor.

Initial priorities were to work out how much time she could buy. Maybe ten minutes? But Hannibal was impatient. And the last thing she needed was for him to come looking for her. Again. So seven minutes. The clock said 3:17pm. She closed her eyes, shaking her head slightly. _It's not enough. _A few deep breaths later, and Catherine raised her head to stare in disbelief at her reflection in the floor length mirror opposite her. _I have absolutely no idea what to do. I have nothing. _

_**No.**_

Pushing the panic away, she closed her eyes again and resumed breathing deeply. She had an organised and fast mind. _Think. Assess your options, Cat._

_Option one: I work for him. Go along with what he wants. He's a serial killer. You know how they work- no loose ends. Result: dead._

_Option two: I run right now. He found me when he didn't even know my name, it would be naïve of me to even consider that he might not find me. And when he finds me, he'll kill me. Result: dead._

_Option three: Turn him into the police. With what evidence? And I can't turn him in without simultaneously locking myself up, god knows I've stolen from almost every rich guy in the country. Result: life imprisonment_

_Option four: Anonymously tip the polic- oh God, yeah right. He'll get interrogated, they'll find nothing (because I stole all of his goddamn incriminating shit), he'll be released and he'll come straight for me ('I had a visit today, Catherine. Perhaps we could discuss it.'). Result: dead._

She paused to glance at the clock.4 minutes left. She could hear him pacing downstairs. He was clearly very determined to have her work for him. She paused. A thought occurred.

_**Option five:**_

_**I'm safe as long as he needs me.**_

Frowning to herself, and musing the beginnings of her plan over, she started to get changed in preparation for meeting her opponent downstairs.

_**So, I work for him. I do a good job, I behave myself.**_

Removing her damp clothes, she tossed them in the direction of the laundry basket, and began to put on clean underwear.

_**He knows I'm an essentially harmless thief to him. His guard would be down.**_

She winced slightly at the direction the plan was inevitably going. After all, he was right- she wasn't a killer by nature.

_But,_ she reasoned reluctantly, _he is the only direct threat to my life, and this threat can only be removed by eliminating him from the problem._

_**So when things start to get dangerous- when I'm no longer 'essential' to him- I kill him.**_

She straightened up and exhaled, looking at herself in the mirror.

_I could do it._

Two minutes. She grabbed a pair of leggings and a jumper from her chest of drawers (_cute, non-threatening_), and after putting them on, hastily towel-dried her hair and wrapped it into a bun on top of her head. Looking into the mirror, she wondered whether she should have put on some makeup. Not enough time.

'Don't make it too obvious.' she mouthed to her reflection in the mirror, and watched herself change. Eyes hardened, mouth relaxed, face prepared. She went from frightened little girl to confident business woman within seconds. Hopefully, her behaviour would follow. After all, this was the only plan she had, and there was absolutely no room for error.


	7. Chapter 7

The sound of her footsteps descending the stairs alerted him to her return, and he stood up from his place on the settee, ready to greet her. Alfie sat at his feet, tail wagging amicably, as Catherine made her way into the room, and without acknowledging him, took a seat opposite the Doctor. It was only then that she looked up at him, her expression stony, and after a moment of silence gestured for him to sit also.

'I hope I wasn't too long.' She offered, crossing her legs.

'Not at all.' Came his reply, and it was true. In honesty, he had enjoyed Alfie's company more than he had anticipated. Perhaps he should consider getting a pet of his own.

'You want me to work for you.' It wasn't a question, but Hannibal confirmed it with a slight nod of his head. In turn, she leaned forward in her chair, tapping her nails along the arm rests.

'So, what's in it for me?'

Hannibal fought the urge to smile. The girl was sat in front of him with dripping wet hair, and yet they may as well have been in a boardroom for all she cared. He leant forwards in response, mirroring her body language, and steepled his fingers together in mock thought.

'I think we would make good business partners.' He started. Her eyes gave nothing away but disinterest. He pressed forward regardless.

'Aside from your average wage, the things I'm asking you to do will be significantly easier than your average heists.'

'You know nothing about my "average heists".'

'No, but I can guess. I won't, for example, be asking you to steal trophies from a serial killer.' He smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring fashion, but received no response.

'So what kinds of things are you requesting?'

'Ah.' Hannibal smiled again. 'I'm afraid I will only be willing to discuss the propositions when I'm assured of your confidentiality.' _When you agree to work with me._

At this point, Catherine frowned in an irritation that she made no attempt to conceal.

'No. Let's get real here. What you're offering me is safety. From you.' At the last sentence, the corners of her mouth turned up subconsciously. Hannibal felt himself bristle, but forced another smile.

'I wouldn't like to think of it like that.' He replied smoothly. She watched him carefully as he said it. The two stared at each other for a few seconds in silence- him trying to work out what she was thinking; her weighing up her options. The Doctor paused mid-thought to take her in- the waves slowly forming in her damp hair; the smell of shower gel on her skin that the rain had begun to lift off. She was too easily a distraction.

She broke eye contact first.

'No more visits.' She paused to collect her thoughts. 'No contact unless it's business-related. And,' she gave him a confident smirk, 'I want double the wage.'

Hannibal exhaled in mock exasperation, and she flashed him a genuine smile.

'Of course,' He would have paid her triple anyway. 'But,' he added almost as though it were an afterthought, 'on the condition that you have dinner with me.'

The first thing Hannibal noticed was the unguarded reflex of surprise sweeping across her face. He hadn't expected her to see this coming. The deal they were about to strike was a victory on his part, so naturally she wanted to be an unemotional and professional as possible. He wouldn't allow that; the Doctor liked to savour his victories- in more ways than one. Besides, she was just too much fun to play with.

'I make a point of dining with all of my co-workers.' His voice hinted at darker tone. She needed to know this was non-negotiable. Catherine said nothing in reply, eyes on him, but unfocused- in thought. Hannibal watched her raise her right hand to her chest, fingertips grazing the length of her collarbone as she processed the challenge.

He knew what she was thinking- after all, he had led her directly to it. She would accept. _Don't upset the boss. _His eyes were drawn to hers as her head snapped up, her own eyes now focused and set in determination. _Ready to play._

'I'd love to.' She smiled easily, the emotion not quite reaching her eyes, 'So, it appears we have a deal.' She paused, her grin indicating there was more. 'I'll accept your invitation of dinner as soon as you send the details of the work you want me to do.' This time, her satisfaction was displayed across her entire face, 'Since you can be certain of my _confidentiality._' she dragged the last word out slowly.

_Smart girl. I can't kill her if she knows my plans in advance- too much danger she could have hidden the information with a third party._

Catherine watched Hannibal's begrudging smile, and returned with a smirk of her own.

'I can assure you I am _very _discreet.'


	8. Chapter 8

The piece of paper that arrived in the post simply contained a name and a date. Not in his own handwriting, of course- nothing traceable to him, probably not even typed and printed on his home devices- but it could only be his. Catherine chewed her lip thoughtfully as she read and re-read the name. Marcus Valen. It was not familiar to her. The date presumably was when Hannibal needed the job done by. Whatever the job was. It seemed like the type of message you'd receive if the job required some kind of disposal. Somehow, she figured maybe that was something Hannibal might want to do himself. Perhaps collect a trophy? She'd always assumed killers did that on the spot, at the point of murder or immediately after. Surely that was the point? Unless he wanted something specific, and planned on killing him off-site. She shuddered involuntarily, and took the first sip from her cup of coffee, before wincing. Far too sweet. _I hope the kettle's still hot. _Distant sounds of yapping brought her out of her trance, and she turned automatically on her heel and headed towards the door to let Alfie in. She smiled as he barrelled his way inside, partially wet from the drizzle but pleased nonetheless.

'You dry yourself off in your bed and have a little nap, Alf. I'll be back in a few hours.'

The laptop on the seat next to her was about 6 years old. Very, very slow. She'd bought it at a car boot sale when she started working. Paid in cash. She frowned as she turned into the near-empty parking lot. Three fast food chains were in front of her. Not as busy as she'd hoped for 5 o'clock rush hour. Not that she was going to go inside. Parking suitably close to the entrances, and next to a red volvo so that her car didn't look out of place, she undid her seatbelt, turned to the passenger seat and opened the laptop. She turned off the car heaters as the Windows 95 logo lit up the screen, immediately logged on and connected herself the one of the complementary wifis, tapping her foot impatiently on the break pedal as it loaded.

'Alriiiight, here. We. Go.' The mouse hovered over the search bar.

" . Val. En' she enunciated the syllables as her long fingers typed. A surprising number of results appeared. Pictures of a 16 year old Marcus and news reports from the 90s. An ongoing court case about a gang-related homicide. Catherine's eyes scoured the page. Oh. An attack on a competing gang member's family. 2 dead. The most recent article being from the early noughties, addressing the controversial decision to put Valen into witness protection. 'Valen states he fears for his life after receiving death threats while serving his sentence' reads one line. Cat chewed her lip thoughtfully. _So presumably he wants me to find this guy_**. **Still staring at the screen, she reached into her pocket and pulled out her work phone. After a brief moment:

'I need you to find someone for me.'

'Name?' Cat could almost feel Charlie's fingers ready over his laptop, twitching to get started. It had been almost a week since they'd last been in touch. She'd been ignoring his emails.

'Marcus Valen. Only he doesn't go under that name any more.'

'Hm. You know the new name?'

'No, he's in witness protection.' A pause.

'I don't remember that name in any of the proposals I sent you this week.'

'It's another contract.' Cat winced as the sound of typing over the phone stopped abruptly. 'It was agreed orally.' A long sceptical pause ensued. Charlie sighed.

'Okay,' he conceded. 'I'll see what I can do. Talk in an hour.' The phone went dead.

* * *

**Author's note:**_** I'm baaaaack! Sorry for the extended wait- to be honest I was planning on just leaving it, but a few reviews on here and AO3 encouraged me to pick it back up again- at least for a little while. I've had a couple of private messages about potential story plans- please keep them coming! If anything, I'm pretty rubbish at the making up plots- if you tell me to do it, I'll write it! The same goes for any other personal new story suggestions (I've had a few). Keep me updated on what you all think!- B**_


	9. Chapter 9

He opened the door with a smile he made little attempt to conceal. The pair both greeted each other silently, appraising one another.

'Hannibal.' She offered.

'Miss Miller.' He countered.

'Please, call me _Catherine_, Dr Lecter.' She elongated her name in amusement. Responding to her smirk with one of his own, he bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement

'But of course. Please, do come in.' Opening the wooden door wider, he stepped to a side, welcoming her in. The faint aroma of her perfume grazed his skin as she walked past him without a second glance. To Hannibal's surprise, she continued down the hallway, the rhythmic clicking of her heels pausing halfway to glance over her shoulder at him. The edges of her chiffon dress curled around her thighs appealingly in response. He liked her in blue.

'Coming?' she enquired. He was still holding the door open.

'You appear to know my house fairly well for someone who has only graced its doors twice.' he commented.

'Eidetic memory.' She responded. 'I assumed given the time constraints we'd be skipping the formalities.'

'There are no time constraints.' The doctor amended. 'We have plenty of time.' He followed her gaze to the door he had just locked. She probably thought of it as a bad sign.

'Keeping me in, or keeping someone out?' she queried casually.

'There are a lot of bad people in the world, Miss Miller.' He said with a brief smile.

The table was decorated plainly, keeping with the business theme. Catherine seated herself at the head of the table, apparently ignoring Hannibal's attempt to pull the chair out for her.

'How has your day been?' He asked, noting the bruise on her wrist uncovering itself as she removed her jacket.

'Fine.' She responded mildly. No doubt she had noticed his discovery, but appeared uninterested in diverging its cause. 'What's on the menu?'

'A starter of mushroom and sherry pâté with caramelized onions and rosemary focaccia, and caprese with aubergine caviar afterwards.' _All vegetarian. _He uncorked a bottle of cabernet sauvignon with military precision, and presenting it to his guest, smiled. 'I didn't know where you stood on dessert.' He concluded.

'Oh-no.' she corrected, quickly placing her hand gently over her wine glass. 'I thought this was a professional affair.'

The doctor paused, the bottle hovering above her glass.

'Yes, you are quite correct.' He confirmed, straightening up. 'In that case, I'm afraid I will have to insist you remove the knives strapped to your thigh.'

'… I'll have a sauvignon blanc. And I love dessert.'

* * *

'So,' Hannibal opened upon returning to the table after cleaning their plates, 'Marcus Valen'.

Catherine frowned at the change in topic. The majority of the meal had been held in surprisingly pleasant conversation. She had had no idea Hannibal was so fond of art. He'd have a lot in common with some of her other clients.

'Yes.' She frowned, trying to remember the specifics of her research. The wine was making her hazy. 'He's been living under the name Luke Higgs since 2002. Moved from house to house for around 7 years. Unmarried, no children.' She swallowed, trying not to be distracted by Hannibal steepling his fingers from across the table.

'He worked temporarily in the construction industry, but otherwise, no job.' She paused somewhat nervously. 'But, he went off the grid a few years ago.'

Hannibal remained silent.

'No credit-card expenditures, mobile phone records, or method of tracing him whatsoever.' Cat continued, the words beginning to tumble from her mouth; a result of both alcohol and apprehension.

'The CIA have actually been trying to track him down for a number of years. However, he did move from house to house along the Tri-State area, so it's possible that he may just have moved on. Where he got the money to do so, I have no idea, but if you were to look for him, I'd estimate he was towards the coast; maybe near Philadephia . I'd consider asking a few underground communities where he was also- most likely he got the cash from illegal activities. I realise it's pretty flimsy evidence to go on, but I was quite limited time-wise.'

'I have no interest in finding Mr Valen.'

Catherine didn't respond, bemused. Hannibal took a sip of his wine, and placing his glass down, glanced neutrally at her.

'Marcus has been dead for 5 years.'

* * *

**_Not much of a cliffhanger, but there you go. I plan to update hopefully soon-ish (I have a couple of ideas), please keep your comments coming I love them all! - B_**


	10. Chapter 10

The words came surprisingly easily to him, information he had never spoken aloud he felt more than comfortable to expose. Normally, he didn't backtrack on previous exploits, but for her he would make an exception.

'You are quite right in your assumptions, however. When I found him, he had been working underground for a number of years.' He noted Catherine beginning to grip the tablecloth with the tips of her fingers. He was surprised at the uncomfortable response.

'I see. And the point of this was?'

'You don't hire assistants without testing their abilities first.'

'You shouldn't give a job offer without testing their abilities first' she fired back immediately. He smiled and shrugged. 'You broke into my house. It was a strong indicator. And thus far, I must admit I'm impressed with your deductions.'

She smiled briefly.

'It's my job-'

Nothing more needed to be said.

But it was

'-and it's what my team are paid for.'

His hands hit the table and he was stood up within an instant. In alarm, Catherine stood up also, toppling her chair behind her.

'Team?' he questioned. Catherine suppressed the urge to stammer, and fought through the haze of the wine to maintain clear thoughts.

'I have an assistant who-'

'Others were aware of this?' his voice was getting louder.

'Only the-' She was cut off by his Lithuanian swearing. She closed her eyes momentarily to calm down, only to immediately open them in response to an unexpected bang. Out of fear, her hand flew to the knives by her thigh instinctually.

Beyond anything else, he was amazed by her stupidity in getting others involved. She held a certain naivety he hadn't anticipated. He ran his hands through his hair as he swore, picturing the sheer number of actions required to amend the situation. Killing the assistant was naturally the first. He paused mid-swear as he glanced at her, and saw her reaching for her knives.

Before she could correct herself, they collided- him slamming her against the wall; her struggling to get away. In an instant he had her arms pinned above her head, his sharp hips preventing her from squirming away.

'No knives' he hissed, towering above her, his face inches from hers, slightly closer than necessary.

'I w- I wasn't' she gasped. She looked up at him, simultaneously opening her restrained palms outwards to indicate her innocence, and their eyes met. Neither of them spoke until her breathing had slowed. She felt his hot breath on her face. He watched her watching him. He spoke slowly and gently.

'No. Teams.'

'But how am I supposed to-' a sharp inhale prompted by Hannibal pressing harder on her wrists ended the sentence. He watched her for another moment, then reiterated.

'No teams, Catherine. You, and you alone.'

She eyed him warily. 'You are aware I can knock you flat on your ass right now?' She twisted her hand out of his grip to demonstrate, waggling her fingers at him from a side. He exhaled audibly. 'Catherine.' He warned.

'Okay, okay, no team.'

They remained motionless for another few seconds, before Hannibal gently released her and turned to pick up her discarded chair.

'Let's get back to dinner, shall we? Oh, and-' He turned suddenly and once again closed the space between them. He noted with pleasure her involuntary bite of her lip as he slid his hand up her thigh. Then, in one swift movement, he removed the hidden weapons, and stepping back, held them between his thumb and finger with a satisfied smile on his face.

'No knives, Catherine.'


End file.
